Heartbeats of a Killer

by Michael Merson

  “Hey Satchel Ass,” Axel heard Gary’s familiar voice and turned and saw him moving toward him through the crowd, carrying two hotdogs.

  “I got you a hotdog. I hope you’re hungry,” Gary announced as he reached out toward his partner with one of the hotdogs.

  “What do I owe you?” Axel asked.

  “Eight bucks!”

  “Eight bucks! For one hotdog.”

  Somehow, he knew he was being taken advantage of once again. He was also surprised that he felt hungry and that he wanted the hotdog after observing Tammy Johnson’s autopsy earlier in the day.

  Maybe I’m just getting used to them, he thought.

  “No. Two hotdogs cost eight dollars. It was your turn to buy.”

  “Well, I don’t have any money on me,” Axel responded.

  “I’ll add it to your tab.”

  “I imagine you will. Do you know what this lady looks like?” Axel asked and then took a bite of his eight-dollar lunch.

  “She’s supposed to be in a blue summer dress with red flowers. She has blonde hair, and long legs,” Gary said with a smile and a wink.

  “That’s quite the description. Did Lambert tell you all that? I mean about the legs and all?”

  “Nope! He just mentioned the dress and blonde hair. I imagined the rest.”

  Axel shook his head and continued to eat his food as Gary began talking about the professional baseball season. The band and other participants started to march down the street, and people started clapping and cheering as firecrackers ignited and clapped from every corner of the park. The parade did not interest the smaller children who were running through the Uncle Wilber Fountain.

  “What time did she say she’d be here?” Axel asked as he finished his food.

  “Eleven thirty,” Gary said and then ate his last bite.

  “Well, it’s eleven forty now. Call Lambert and ask him what kind of car she drives. She could be stuck in that traffic on Nevada Avenue.”

  Okay, Mr. Impatient. Come on. My phone is in my car," Gary explained.

  “As the two started across the park, Axel noticed a large crowd of people standing on the sidewalk with a few police officers nearby. Another officer was standing next to a luxury car parked on Bijou, facing the park.

  He was wondering what the gathering was about as his phone started to vibrate. He looked down at it. He then looked over to Gary. Axel answered his phone and listened to Lt. Wilson, on the other end.

  “We got a homicide over there,” Axel said and then pointed toward the luxury car after getting off the phone.

  The two detectives walked over toward the other officers and began to survey the scene. Inside the detectives observed a female victim inside the car sitting in the driver seat with her head slumped over the steering wheel. She had an apparent gunshot wound to the left side of her temple and an exit wound on the right side.

  The passenger seat and window were covered in blood and brain matter, indicating the bullet’s direction of travel. There was a small hole in the passenger door where Axel determined the round had finally come to rest.

  “It looks like the shooter was standing next to the driver’s door and shot downward. The bullet struck her high on the left side and then exited low on the right and then finally came to rest in the passenger door,” Gary explained.

  Axel pulled his notebook out and started taking notes on what he observed. The victim was blonde and wearing a blue summer dress with red flowers. He didn’t need the victim’s driver’s license or a family member for identification purposes. The victim was Sharon Douglas.

  Maybe she did see something the other night. What she may have seen will now remain a mystery, along with the identity of PPK, Axel thought to himself.

  Axel noticed that the driver’s side window was down. This minor detail seemed odd. It was scorching outside, and when the two detectives arrived, the car was still running, and the air conditioner was on.

  “That’s odd,” he said quietly.

  Why’s her window down with the AC on? Was she talking to someone? Did someone come up to her?

  The only thing Axel could conclude was that she knew who shot her or she saw who it was, and she wasn’t afraid to speak to the shooter. Hence the window is down.

  The scene took a few hours to process, and as Gary was completing his interviews, the coroner arrived and began collecting the body from the car. Gary walked over to Axel just as he was reaching into the vehicle to turn the engine off.

  “Damn. She was our witness. The car is registered to David and Sharon Douglas,” Gary explained.

  “Did anyone see anything?” Axel asked Gary.

  “No, everyone was watching the parade,” Gary answered.

  “The woman who found her had parked across the street and was walking by with her son when she saw the body slumped over the steering wheel,” Gary explained as he looked down at his notes.

  His so-called notes consisted of a few napkins that came with his hotdog at lunch.

  “Who do you think could be a suspect?” Axel asked.

  “Well the way I figure it, we got PPK, and Mr. Douglas if he knew about the affair with Lambert. Who are you thinking of Axel?”

  “Same as you, but I’d like to know where Lambert was during lunch as well. Do you want to go and speak to Lambert again while I go see Mr. Douglas and tell him that his wife is dead? After that, I’ll go over and speak to Tammy’s parents.”

  “You haven’t talked to the victim’s family yet? Are you waiting for an invitation? I thought you would’ve spoken to them earlier this morning.”

  “No. I was giving them time to collect themselves. Their daughter did just die, you know. Besides, I had to meet Dr. Ryan for the autopsy this morning.”

  That was a lie. Axel was putting off visiting Tammy’s family because he didn’t want to see another family in mourning. Axel figured that if he had captured PPK by now, their daughter would still be alive.

  “Okay, I’ll finish things up here, and then I’ll speak to the cheater again and find out where he was today. I’ll also find out if he owns a gun,” Gary said as he walked back toward his car.

  As the coroner’s van pulled away from the curb, Axel stood and stared at it as it turned south on Nevada, carrying away his only possible lead.

  Chapter 11

  “What exactly does a Forensic Psychologist do for the FBI?” Brandi asked.

  “I put profiles together to help identify a perpetrator of a specific crime,” Jaxson answered.

  “How do you do that?”

  “Well, I look at observable behaviors and try to determine what type of person exhibits those types of behaviors.”

  “I think I need a little more of an explanation than just that,” Brandi remarked.

  “Okay. For example, this plane has three seats on both sides of the plane for passengers to sit in.”

  “Right.”

  “I know what type of passenger sits in each seat.”

  “Really! Do tell,” Brandi encouraged.

  “The aisle seat is for the passenger that is an extrovert. The aisle seat passenger is comfortable around other people, likes to converse with strangers and learn more about them, while at the same time being in control.”

  “Control?” Brandi said interrupting.

  “Sure. The aisle seat passenger controls the other two passengers’ movements in and out of the row. He or she may not necessarily understand that they have that control but psychologically speaking they do.”

  “I can actually see that. What about the window seat passenger?” Brandi asked with interest.

  “That passenger is more likely an introvert. They sit there closing themselves off from the rest of the passengers except the middle seat, which they have no control over. They’ll most likely put their earphones on and pretend to sleep or look out the window. As long as they don’t have to converse with anyone, they’re content.”

  “Wow! You’re absolutely right. I’ve seen it. Many window seat
passengers will get on the plane and immediately put their earphones in and ignore everyone else.”

  "Now this isn’t exact, and sometimes a behavior analysis profile like in this scenario can be incorrect for any number of reasons. Sometimes new information that comes to light changes the profile. I just made this passenger seat assignment analysis off of the belief that the passenger selected their seat. If the airline assigned the seat, then the profile is useless," Jaxson explained.

  “I get it. But what about the center seat?” Brandi asked.

  “That’s just poor travel planning by the passenger who usually gets stuck with the seat that they waited until the last minute to book. Nobody wants the center seat,” Jaxson said and then laughed.

  “But you’re in the center seat right now,” Brandi stated.

  “Like I said, the profile can change. In this scenario, I want to be in the center seat next to you.” Jaxson replied. He was happy with the relaxed and easy-going companionship of Brandi.

  ***

  Axel maneuvered his car down Lake Avenue through a round-a-bout, one of many that could be found in the Woodlake Estates community, on his way to the Douglas home. The homes that lined either side of the street were expensive, most of which belonged to prominent families and wealthy business owners in and around Colorado Springs. At one time the community had its own police department patrolling the quiet neighborhood.

  He pondered how the City of Colorado Springs could justify the construction of the many round-a-bouts’ in the expensive neighborhood while ignoring the potholes and cracks in the less affluent communities. These streets were well lit at night, and the flower arrangements along the road were comparable to that of the White House in Washington D.C. The expense to keep this neighborhood looking the way it did was high.

  As he pulled into the Douglas driveway, he noticed that it was surrounded by a wall of river rock. The lawn was immaculate with its perfectly manicured green grass. There were beautiful spruce trees sporadically placed around the property. The home, like many others in the area, screamed to those passing by that people with money lived here.

  Axel pulled under a covered driveway near the front door. He stepped out of the car onto a cobblestone patio and then walked toward the large pine double doors that were held in place with black cast iron hinges. He shook his head as he thought about the people who lived in this area away from reality. The reality where people knew their neighbors, they said hello, and they watched out for each other.

  From the front porch, Axel saw a red sports car parked under a tree near the garage, out of view from the street. As he reached for the doorbell, he paused and listened to what he believed were the voices of two men arguing inside the home. At first, it was verbal, but then he heard furniture being pushed around the floor. Axel rang the doorbell, followed by knocking on the door very loudly. The argument inside stopped, and Axel positioned himself to the side of the door in preparation for the unknown. Suddenly one of the large doors opened and standing in front of him was a medium-sized man with dark hair, wearing a yellow dress shirt, a tie, and blue slacks. All of which seemed to be slightly disordered.

  “Can I help you?” He asked.

  “I’m Detective Frost with the Colorado Springs Police Department, and I need to speak with Mr. Douglas concerning his wife,” Axel answered directly as he tried to look past the man into the home.

  “I’m David Douglas. Please come in Detective,” he said with some hesitation.

  The inside of the home had its own personality. It was decorated with expensive wall paintings, lavish furniture, and hardwood covering the floors from wall to wall. He believed that an expensive interior decorator deserved credit for the grandeur displayed. Axel continued to look around at the home as he walked from one room into the next. He made polite comments about the beauty of the house as he walked. It was nothing more than small talk as Axel was still concerned about the second man he had heard from the outside.

  Mr. Douglas quickly moved in front of him near the kitchen and asked that they continue their meeting in the living room where they could sit down and talk. Sitting down, he noticed that Mr. Douglas had a red mark on the side of his face as if he had just been hit by someone. His eyes were also bloodshot and swollen.

  “Would you care for something to drink?” Douglas asked.

  Before Axel could answer, his host started yelling for someone named Abigail. A woman, apparently Abigail, had been hiding around the corner. Upon hearing Douglas call for her, she made her appearance. She too was visibly upset, but she wasn’t the other voice that Axel had heard from the door.

  “What would you like Detective?”

  “Do you have a diet soda?” Axel asked Abigail.

  “Certainly,” she replied and then quickly left the room.

  She disappeared behind the corner, and Mr. Douglas took a seat across from Axel.

  “Is everything okay here?” Axel asked.

  “Yes, detective.”

  “It’s just that I heard some people arguing when I came to the door, and I thought it was another man’s voice that I had heard.”

  “Oh. I was watching the game and yelling at the players,” Douglas explained quickly and unconvincingly.

  “Mr. Douglas I’m sorry, but I come here as the bearer of bad news. You see, I’m here to inform you that your wife was killed this afternoon,” Axel explained softly.

  “Yes, detective, I know,” Douglas replied and then took a deep breath.

  “You already know? How did you find out so soon? I mean I just left the scene,” he asked in shock.

  “I have many friends in this town, and when someone dies or is killed, someone who was as special as my wife, especially, the news gets out pretty fast.”

  “I mean I just left the park and came straight to your home. Maybe I’m out of line, but hell, for lack of better words, her body wasn’t even cold yet.”

  “Detective let’s just say that, well… someone I know saw my wife’s car and everything else that was going on near the park and called me. In turn, I made some phone calls myself.”

  “I understand. So, do you think I could ask you a few questions?”

  Usually, the detective tried to be more compassionate when interviewing the family of victims, but if this guy was going to be secretive, then he saw no reason to pull any punches.

  Outside, he heard a car start and seconds later he saw the flash of red pass by the window. When he looked back from the window, he met the very hypnotic eyes of Abigail who had returned with the drinks. He smiled and thanked her as she placed the soda on a coaster in front of him. He then watched as she walked over to David Douglas, where she bent over and handed him his drink. He couldn’t help but notice that Abigail appeared to be remorseful or sympathetic to David. She passionately, or with compassion, rubbed his hands with hers after she placed the drink in his hand. She then stood back upright, smiled, and slowly caressed his shoulder.

  Axel noticed that she, Abigail, was an attractive Hispanic woman in her mid-thirties and she had a body that would rival twenty-year-old models. She was tall, dark-skinned, beautiful, and walked through the room with confidence. Axel suspected that Abigail was something more than just the hired help. Abigail was someone he may have to investigate later, but for now he turned his attention to the man whom he believed had the answers. David was now staring at him from across the coffee table. Axel sat there for a moment, thinking.

  Why would anyone want Sharon Douglas dead? Well, besides PPK. Was there a possible reason David would want to kill his own wife? If so, what was his motive? Maybe his motivation just brought him a soda.

  “Abigail is a friend of the family. She’s here visiting my wife and me for the summer. She lives in Spain, and she and Sharon met in college,” David explained without being asked.

  “Mr. Douglas, where were you today between eleven and twelve o’clock?” Axel asked as he figured it was time to start the interview.

  “I didn’t kill my wife,
detective if that’s what you want to know,” David answered.

  “I didn’t say you did. I’m simply trying to eliminate all the possibilities. You know. I’m just looking at all the angles and eliminating the obvious,” The detective explained.

  “I was here, with Abigail watching the game. You can ask her yourself if you would like.”

  “Do you know of anyone who may have wanted to kill your wife?”

  “No. Sharon was a wonderful woman. She volunteered at soup kitchens, the church, and anywhere someone needed her. Everyone loved Sharon.”

  “Do you know why she was at the park today?” Axel asked not knowing how to react to a yes or no response from Douglas.

  “Yes. To see you, detective,” David answered without hesitating.

  Axel was taken aback.

  Why would a woman who was cheating on her husband tell him she was meeting with a detective to discuss her involvement in a murder case? That happened when she was in the mountains with her lover?

  The look on Axel’s face said it all. Suddenly, without another question from the detective, David spoke again.

  “I know my wife was in North Cheyenne Cañon, and I know who she was with and what she was doing. Sharon and I had an open relationship. It was a type of understanding if you like. At home or at a special event, it was the two of us in the loving relationship that religious and morally right members of the community expected from people in our position. Away from the house and in secret, away from public scrutiny, whatever happened just happened,” David explained plainly.

  “Well with that in mind, did your wife share with you the events that took place in North Cheyenne Cañon the other night?”

  “Just some of it. I understand that the two of them were walking a trail and came across the young girl on the ground. They got scared and ran away. Sharon’s companion, if you will, called the police, and Sharon got a ride home in a taxi.”

  “Do you think that Richard Lambert would want your wife dead in the hopes of concealing his affair with her? As you probably already know he too is married.”